The teacher's request lingered in the air for a few moments, as if it needed time to be fully absorbed.
Twelve children sat on wooden benches, some swinging their legs, others gripping their clothes tightly, their gazes drifting in different directions before the realization settled in. Speaking in front of everyone was not exactly frightening, but it was not comfortable either. For many of them, it was the first time.
The man from the Sarutobi clan remained beside the desk, watching without haste. He did not rush anyone. He knew the initial silence spoke just as loudly as the words that would follow.
"One at a time," he said at last. "Come to the front. There are no right or wrong answers."
The first to stand was Chōbee Akimichi.
The bench creaked as he rose. Chōbee did not seem nervous, but there was something heavy in his movements, as if his body was already accustomed to taking up space. He walked to the front of the classroom without hurry and stopped in front of the blackboard. He scratched the back of his head briefly before speaking.
He said his name simply, spoke of his love for food as something natural, almost obvious, and of his genuine irritation when someone touched what was his. When he mentioned wanting to be strong enough to protect his family, his voice did not change, but there was a firmness there that felt unusual for someone so young.
When he returned to his seat, he sat down the same way he had stood up, as if this had been just another task of the day.
Gaku Inuzuka was the complete opposite.
He stood up too quickly, nearly knocking his bench backward, and crossed the room with long, energetic strides, far too lively for the enclosed space. He spoke loudly, gesturing as he talked, enthusiastically listing everything he liked and everything he hated, as if the world were too simple for half measures. When he said he wanted to be the fastest ninja in the village, his eyes shone, and it was impossible to tell whether that came from ambition or pure instinct.
Ren watched without expression. There was raw energy there in abundance. Control, not yet.
Kohari Aoyama stood next, hesitating for a second before taking her first step. She walked carefully, as if every gaze in the room carried weight. As she introduced herself, her hands remained folded in front of her body, her voice soft but steady. She spoke of her fondness for studying and her desire to help others, and when she said she disliked fighting, her eyes briefly lowered, as though the idea itself unsettled her.
When she returned to her bench, she let out a quiet breath, her shoulders finally relaxing.
Ikkaku Umino was straightforward.
He rose with proper posture, walked to the front without hesitation, and spoke like someone who had rehearsed those words many times before. Rules, responsibility, comradeship. Everything in order, everything in its place. Ren noticed that, unlike the others, Ikkaku was not seeking approval. He was simply stating who he was.
Shinku Yūhi almost went unnoticed as he stood.
If not for the silence that seemed to follow him, he might not have drawn attention at all. He spoke little, chose his words carefully, and made it clear that he preferred observation over thoughtless action. There was no shyness there, only restraint. When he sat down again, he seemed more comfortable in silence than many were in noise.
Then came the Hyūga.
Hiashi stood first, his chin slightly raised, his steps firm and measured. He spoke of strength, leadership, and victory as if they were natural destinies rather than goals. There was too much confidence, but also a rigidity that made it clear this confidence came as much from expectation as from belief.
Hizashi stood immediately after him, similar in appearance but different in manner. He walked with greater ease, and when he spoke, curiosity colored his voice. He talked about learning, about growing, about carving his own path. A brief smile appeared when he finished, ignoring his brother's hard glance as he returned to his seat.
Reiji Nara rose with a restrained sigh, as if the act itself were tiring.
He spoke with lazy honesty about liking to think and disliking unnecessary effort, drawing a few laughs. But Ren noticed what others did not. Reiji watched the room's reaction as he spoke, calculating, testing.
Masaru Uchiha crossed the classroom with natural confidence.
He spoke of challenges, of victory, of becoming the strongest, and as he did, his dark eyes swept across his classmates, lingering a little longer on some than others. When he sat down again, he did not look satisfied, but provoked, as if this class were a field waiting to be conquered.
Kenta Sarutobi maintained formality.
His introduction was balanced and respectful, almost exemplary. Honoring the clan, serving the village, learning from one's teachers. The teacher gave a discreet nod, recognizing something familiar there.
Shin Shimura was brief.
He stood, spoke of usefulness, clear orders, and serving Konoha, then returned to his seat without showing any visible emotion. Ren felt Shin's gaze linger on him longer than necessary afterward.
Atsuo Kanzaki was the last before Ren.
He walked with impeccable posture and spoke with vocabulary more refined than what was common for his age, mentioning history, prosperity, and balance between the village and the Land of Fire. Some of the students looked confused. Ren did not. He recognized someone trained to listen more than to speak and to think beyond the classroom.
Finally, the teacher's gaze settled on him.
Ren stood.
He felt the eyes upon him, but there was no rush. He walked to the front with calm steps, his posture relaxed enough to appear natural. He took a slow breath before speaking.
He said his name, spoke of his enjoyment of training and learning, mentioned his dislike of violence without purpose. When he spoke of wanting to become strong enough not to lose anyone important again, his voice carried just enough emotion to be believable, without excess.
It was the perfect balance for a child.
When he sat down again, Ren kept his gaze lowered for a few seconds.
On the outside, he looked like just another student with a sad story.
On the inside, his thoughts stretched far beyond the room.
Protecting the village did not mean repeating slogans. It meant understanding what was eroding it from within. The ninja system did not fail for lack of strength, but because power was poorly distributed. Children were trained to obey, not to understand. Clans protected their own interests. Civilians paid the price.
Becoming Hokage, for Ren, was neither glory nor recognition. It was access. It was enough authority to prevent the cycle from repeating itself in the same way.
He let his shoulders relax, blending back into the classroom.
The teacher observed the entire group for a few moments before speaking.
"This will be your class. Tomorrow, we begin for real."
Nothing more was said.
The children began to stand, quiet conversations forming, early alliances taking shape in the organized chaos of the end of the lesson. Ren remained seated a moment longer, watching.
The academy was not the beginning of the path.
It was merely the first ground where he would learn how that world truly worked.